Dead Of Night
by xXMethereaperXx
Summary: A street racer with a knack to kill the racers he defeats finds his way to Gunma in search of the witness who eluded him. What happens when the killer finds out this new land has more to offer! New cars, change of scenery, and even more racers to kill!
1. Prologue

Well, here I am again. If you remember me, good for you. If not, you ain't missing much.

Anyway. With the epic failure of my last story in this genre, I deleted it and began on this. I gave up on this. But decided to give it another chance.

This prologue is gonna take place in America, but in maybe two or three chapters it'll move to the cannon country.

Don't worry, Takumi and all your favorites will be in it.

*/*/*/*/*/**/*/*/*/**/*/*/*/*/

Prologue

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

"You've already won! Leave me alone!" yelled Simon, to no avail. His rival had just wiped the floor with him in the badlands, and now it seemed he wasn't through.

The stakes of the race had been greater than he could fathom. It was life or death.

A nudge from behind sent his car lurching forward, the climbing speedometer rising higher. At this moment Simon wished he hadn't removed some of the luxuries he had.

His Daytona was lacking a radio and speakers as well as the carpeting and floor mats.

He was on edge, hell, he was over the edge. He may be facing death and he can't even listen to any music. Don't fear the reaper would hit the spot right now.

The vehicles make the cross from winding desert roads to the inner city highway.

Salvation was an on-ramp away. If he could make it to the highway, he would have a chance to get to the bar owned by his crew.

His stalker, however, had other ideas.

At the last second, Simon had cut the wheel to try and escape, but the white vehicle had caught on to what he was trying and effortlessly sped to the side and nudged him back to the road leading away from the city toward the mountains.

"What's he planning? He already won." Simon said to himself and cut the wheel to backtrack back to the city.

The white vehicles handling was amazing, truly a driver of incomparable skill.

He was in front of him and had pushed Simon's spinning car off the road and into an short alley before disappearing.

A stunned Simon stepped from the vehicle, slightly confused from the bone-jarring impact. He looks back, remembering he was being chased and sees nothing.

With a sigh, he considers himself lucky and checks for damage on his car.

He notices the dodge emblem was ripped from the deck lid, and large dents pushing in his right fender.

Shaking, he lights a cigarette and blows the smoke from his mouth. Believing all was well, the relieved feeling soon fades when he feels the ground begin to rumble and the sound of an screaming engine reaches his ears. He barely has time to dive out of the way before his Daytona is slammed forward and across the small lot before coming to a stop against the small apartment building.

Simon climbs to his feet, noting his sprained ankle, and looks at his twisted wreckage before running back down the alley until he sees the headlights.

A figure steps from behind the light, his features safely covered.

"You don't know who you're messing with! I'm a Jabberwocky!" Simon yells, preparing for a fight.

A chuckle and Simon could tell the figure was grinning, " I know all to well who you are, Simon Cantrell."

Simon unwillingly takes a step back.

"Well, that was good racing, but unfortunately it wasn't good enough. Farewell."

Three gunshots ring through the air and Simon stumbles back against his car and slides to the ground.

He could feel the blood flowing from his chest, but all he could worry about was how his mom would freak when she saw his ruined shirt.

_Bang!_

Then nothing.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/**/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Well, there it is. I know it's short, but It'll get longer.

Review and let me know if I should continue it.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Change Of Scenery

After looking back at the story, I realized it could use some better editing. These are just updated chapters, but changed nothing with the story.

* * *

Simon's body lay lifeless on the cold pavement, yet no-one dared emerge from the apartment complex. Just another typical day in the city.

As the man holstered his weapon and walked back to his car, he jumped behind the wheel and slammed into reverse.

He would have to lay low, Eight-Sixes were rare in America, and his white and black one would stand out among anyone else in the circuit. It was worth it, however. The rush he felt from ending the life of another dangerous driver was enough for his impeccable skills to not notice the witness to his crime.

He hit the on-ramp to the city in time to see the blue and red flashing lights speeding in the opposite direction.

He would definitely need to lay low for a while.

[][][]

Marshall pulled into the parking lot just as the rain began. He pulled into a parking space in front of the diner and looked at the car next to him.

Yep, Cindy was there already. It was his Camaro sitting next to him, and of course, she had neglected to put the T-Tops back in place.

The dome-light of the Civic kicked on as he opened the door. He had to drop off his previous vehicle in a shipping container before picking up the Civic. It was a precaution he had to take.

He went to the trunk of the Camaraderie and brushed loose dust off the Z28 emblem before opening the deck lid. He quickly replaced the tops to their correct position and entered the diner.

He stood in the doorway a moment and brushed the rain off his jacket. The small diner usually catered to truckers, drifters, and any other sort you could think of, but at this time of night it was fairly empty save for the workers and the few couples escaping the rain.

"Hello, sit anywhere you like," said the waitress as Marshall passed on his way to where Cindy was sitting.

Cindy was average except for the way she dressed. Though she was already twenty, she was a year older than Marshall, but dressed as a teen who was angry at being told what to do.

Marshall however, was forced to act older than he was due to his up-bringing. He dressed as you would expect a man in his line of work would. Overcoat, dress shirt, nearly everything formal.

He sat across from Cindy and pulled the cigarette from her mouth and took a drag.

"I told you to take your time getting here," Marshall said while showing no interest in returning the cigarette.

"I did, I took my time and made sure I wasn't followed, just like you said."

Marshall shook his head, "Then maybe you'll remember what I reminded you to do. Something about the windows in the Kroc?"

"I didn't forget..." said Cindy while moving to stand up.

Marshall tugged at her black sweater and motioned for her to sit down, "I already got them."

"See, then there's no problem."

Cindy sat back down and reached into her purse. She slid another cigarette to her lips and started to flick the lighter.

Marshall took that cigarette as well, "I told you to quit."

Cindy sighed, "Is that why you asked me here, to help save my soul?"

Marshall removed a keyring from his pocket as the waitress walked to the end of the table.

"Can I get you two anything?"

"Coffee," they both replied at the same time.

The waitress nodded and smiled, "May I take your jacket, sir?"

Marshall shook his head, "I'll only be here a few minutes."

As the waitress left, Cindy leaned over the table, "Planning on jumping ship, Skipper?"

Marshall leaned backwards and said nothing.

"What?"

"I have to leave town for a while."

Cindy's eyes widened, "What?"

Marshall sighed, "I have to leave."

"I'm going with you then."

Marshall shook his head, "Too dangerous."

At that moment, a bright searchlight flashed through the window, catching the attention of both Cindy and Marshall. The light snapped to the Civic and the Camaro before shutting off. The police cruiser idled for a moment, before an officer stepped out of the passenger and began walking toward the diner.

"Act normal," Marshall whispered.

Cindy nodded, still not fully understanding but knowing enough to obey.

The officer walked to the bar and pulled a notebook from jacket, "Excuse me, you would have happened to see a black and white 1986 Toyota Corolla today, have you?"

Marshall's eyes widened slightly. Just a little, but enough for Cindy to slowly discover what was going on.

"No, afraid not, officer."

The officer nodded, and turned to leave after thanking her, but he stopped before he reached the door.

He looked toward the table Marshall and Cindy was sitting at, then lumbered his way over.

"Excuse me sir, is that you're Z28 outside?"

Marshall faked a smile and nodded, "Yes it is."

"Did you get the recall they had on the Intake?"

Marshall nodded, "Yeah, but I ended up dropping the fuel injection and switched to carb."

The officer whistled and switched his gaze toward the windows, "Wow, I bet that was difficult!"

"It wasn't so bad,"

The officer's radio crackled, and he sighed, "Well, take care you two."

Once the officer left, Marshall tossed the keyring onto the table. There were only two keys on it and they both bore a Honda symbol.

"It's the purple one. It's yours."

Cindy pulled another keyring from her purse and slid it across the table, "Where are you going? What about you're other cars?"

Marshall slid the keys into his jacket and sighed, "You remember Ren, right? Drake's sister?"

"Yeah, but what does that-"

"She lives overseas now, a place called Gunma."

"Never heard of it."

"Exactly. I bought an old warehouse over there and i'm shipping everything over there. All that's left is the Camaro."

"When will you be back?"

Marshall didn't answer. Instead he stood from the table, "Tomorrow, you'll hear about the death of a Jabberwocky. Simon Cantrell. If anyone asks, you haven't seen me since last night."

Cindy was quiet a moment, but nodded.

"If you need anything, contact Ren. Don't try to find me."

"So you're just going to leave me here?" she asked as she looked down and hid her face behind her long, blonde hair.

Marshall sighed and sat back down, "I have too. There's people looking for me now."

Cindy didn't answer.

"Look, I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to," Marshall said as he dropped money on the table to pay for the drinks.

Once again, he received only silence.

"I have to leave now. Remember, contact Ren. My phone will be useless over there, so i'll have to get another one. I'll call as soon as I can."

Marshall stood and walked towards the door as the waitress passed him with the try of coffee.

Talk about bad timing.

Marshall slid behind the wheel of the car and mumbled at the wet seat. He punched the clutch and turned the key.

Barely waiting for the engine to roar to life, he jammed the car into reverse and backed out of the space.

Without stopping, he shifted into first and punched the gas. The car idled down for a moment and barely moved.

"Damn it, not now."

He tapped a button on the steering wheel and a sudden burst of energy sent the engine roaring as flames shot from the exhaust.

'The one time I let her touch you, she manages to mess you up.' Marshall said to the as he exited the parking lot and drove towards the industrial district and the Harbor that lies within.

* * *

Alright, thanks for reading move on to the next if you'd like.


	3. Just, Drive

Third chapter i'm editing, and i'm working on the next as we speak.

Let's go, Rev up readers!

-[8]-[[]]-

Marshall took one last pass through the shop to make sure everything was gone, and nothing left behind.

All the cars were moved into shipping containers and were being loaded onto the ship owned by Toshiki Watsuba, Ren's father.

Marshall sighed, and ran a hand through his long, black hair. It seems over extreme to move everything to a town he's never been before, but it was necessary. With a dead Jabberwocky, he was top on the list. No matter, he was just another dangerous driver.

Street racing is one thing, but when you put people in danger, you deserve to be put in as much danger as they were in.

To stay hidden, he discarded his usual business attire and dressed more like a kid his age, a tight gray t-shirt and black jeans.

He slung his guitar bag over his shoulder, and picked up his backpack. He walked through the house attached to the shop and began turning off lights, as well as making sure the windows were locked. He moved the the small closet near the door and opened the panel for the circuit breaker. He turned off all the power then left the closet.

He took one last sweep of the house before opening the door and stepping out side.

The sun was bright, and it took him a moment to see what was sitting at the curb. Cindy was wearing a red and black plaid skirt with a purple shirt, she never did care for matching. Her Blonde hair was spread over the window to the purple Civic he had left her yesterday. Sunglasses covered the top half of her face, and a cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth.

Stooping to pick up the newspaper, Marshall saw the headline.

'Crackdown On Racing! Simon Cantrell murdered!'

Marshall shook his head as he descended the small walk, looking at the blue ocean that churned beyond the mountainous cliff. The sun reflected off the guardrail, and he was at the end of the sidewalk when he was able to see past the blinding flash.

"Thought you could use a ride," said Cindy, still leaning against the car.

Marshall shrugged "Better than a cab. Lemme drive."

Cindy pulled the keys from her pocket, "You drive too fast."

"I'll drive slower,"

"You don't know the meaning of the word."

"If I let you drive, you'll purposely make me miss my flight."

While Cindy moved to sit in the car, Marshall opened the hatch and dropped his bags in the back, after sliding the newspaper into an open pocket of the pack.

He moved to the driver door and sat behind the wheel. Adjusting the seat, he pushed in the clutch and started the engine.

Not waiting for an approaching car to pass, he gunned the engine and took off into the street. Cindy was slouched in the seat with her knees against the dash when they flew around the corner.

The car began to lose traction in the rear and slid out ward. Marshall pushed one of the buttons on the steering wheel, and the engine whined in protest, as a hiss came from the bottle mounted behind the seat.

The car's back tire spun wildly then caught traction and rocketed forward.

Marshall flipped on the radio and found a station he liked, but Cindy turned it off.

"Problem?"

Cindy sighed and said, "It's our last drive, can't we just talk or something?"

"Okay, what about?"

"Well, for starters, what happened to Simon Cantrell?"

Marshall sighed, "He was a dangerous driver, and you know all the Jabberwocky's are dealers. He probably made a promise he couldn't keep."

"You're lying."

"Of course."

Cindy sighed, "Why does everything have to be a game with you?"

"It isn't."

"You're being childish!" Cindy yelled frustratedly.

"Childish?" Marshall yelled back and swung the car around a corner, "I'm nineteen years old, never finished school, and when I finally get a business together and start making some money, I have to stop everything because someone might be looking for me! Doesn't sound like something a child would have to deal with!"

The car began to pick up speed as another corner was approaching.

"Marshall,"

"What?"

Cindy pointed forward to the corner, and Marshall sighed.

Ripping the E-brake and cutting the wheel to the left, Marshall dropped the speed from one hundred and ten, to eighty-three. The engine whined as they reached the apex of the corner. Another push of the button on the steering wheel brought them closer to the railing, but as before, the chassis moved backward and the front end lifted slightly, causing more weight to gather over the rear tires.

"That, boys and girls," Marshall said as they safely exited the corner, "is why rear tire switchover kits are worth it."

"Just tell me what's going on."

Shaking his head, he said, "I can't. It's for your protection."

A beeping came from the dashboard and a light began flashing.

Marshall sighed, "Do you not know how to use a gas pump?"

[][][][][][]

A small stage sits in a small square that is slightly lower than the courthouse behind it, separated only by a one way street. On the stage, there is two police officers standing beside a small podium, looking over the crowd that has gathered to watch the press conference concerning the mass murders of street racers.

The police chief makes his way up the two steps to the stage, followed by the city's mayor, Waynard Castillo. The Chief falls in next to one of the officers, while the mayor walks to the podium.

"Everyone, we are here today to discuss the recent string of murders tied to local street racers. I will now turn over to the head of Police, Chief Baxter."

Polite applause makes it way forward as Baxter makes his way to the podium.

Waynard steps to the direct right of the podium, in order to stay in view of the cameras, but gives control away.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," begins Baxter, "It is my duty as Police Chief to report what we have found.

"Alot of the street racers in this state are running drugs, guns, and anything else they find profit in, but our evidence shows it is not a killer from any crime syndicate. Evidence shows it is a street racer who doesn't run with any of the crews, but drives a foreign car."

The chief opens a folder he has on the stand and reads through the short page of notes on what evidence they actually have.

"The car is an older model Toyota lift back. Mid 80's, early 90's. It is white and black, with dark windows. That is all we have at the moment, we are urging anyone with information to come froward."

A number of hands fly up in anticipation, and Baxter looks carefully through the crowd.

"You in the back."

The hands drop, and one person stands.

"Debbie Miller, _The Sun-City Times. _What is it you are actually doing to combat the street racing epidemic?"

The Chief thought for a moment then looked through the pages in the folder.

"Mrs. Miller, we are taking many precautions to stop this, epidemic as you call it. We are creating a task force to intercept racers and stop them before any damage is done. Our cruisers are being upgraded to even the playing field between the street tuners and the Police Force. We are also impounding any vehicle we suspect is over modified for street use, as well as setting up more road blocks to check for any vehicles carrying drugs or weapons."

The chief closed the folder and stood straight, "I can assure all of you, Street Racing in this town, is dead!"

The applause was interrupted by the sound of a loud, revving engine, drawing everyone's attention to the road behind the stage as a purple Civic hatchback flies by at nearly one hundred miles an hour.

"What was all that about?" Marshall asked Cindy as they passed the small gathering.

[][][]

"So, right as he says street racing is dead, this purple car speeds by! The video's been played on this comedy show two days in a row!" Says Itsuki to Koichiro.

It's nearly midnight and they're sitting next to their cars on the top of Akina.

"That's pretty funny. I'd like to have seen his face."

"Ya, he turned red and you could tell he was angry." Itsuki said still giggling from the story.

"So," Koichiro says while stretching, "How much have you saved toward your turbo?"

Itsuki sighs, "Only about two hundred bucks."

"I don't know if that'll cut it. You could maybe buy a used one, but it would be better to wait for a new one."

"Yeah. Speaking of, have you seen that there's a new shop opening up in the harbor?"

Koichiro nods, "Yeah, Reaper Customs. Sounds like an expensive shop."

"True," Says Itsuki while looking at his Levin, "But it sounds like a cool place. Do you want to check it out when it opens?"

"No harm in looking I guess. I'll see if Kenji and Takumi wanna go. It opens in a couple days, so we'll wait until next week when everything's more organized."

"Sounds good. It's about time for me to split. See ya at work." says Itsuki as he and Koichiro enter their cars.

Koichiro and Itsuki both leave in opposite directions, Koichiro driving toward the Lake, and Itsuki driving towards the city.

After driving awhile, Koichiro sees a car without it's lights on pop up in his mirror. He looks closely at it as the car gains ground on him. The lights kick on and he notices they're pop-ups.

"Could it be Takumi making deliveries?" Koichiro says to himself.

The car flashes it's lights, "Yeah, it's Takumi." Koichiro flashes his own and the car increases it's speed.

Confused, Koichiro eases onto the gas, slowly pulling away from the tailgater. As if angered, the car revs up quickly and bumps the rear end of his car.

"Damn it, what's your problem?" he picks up speed and begins to drift around a corner.

The attacker increases his speed to more than Koichiro's and powers his way to the lead.

The sudden pass hes' suffered causes him to lose his focus and he slides too close to the rail. He gains enough control to stop his car and watch the taillights shrink in the distance.

"What's this guy's problem?" Koichiro says as he turns on his flashers and walks to the back of his car.

He sighs and looks at the damage to his bumper. There are several cracks as well as a missing chunk of the plastic trim.

"That was definitely an eight-six, but it couldn't have been Takumi."

The car sputters for a moment, then returns to it's idle.

He puts his hand on the trunk, "Don't worry, we'll go home. We don't need to go sightseeing."

Sitting in the driver's seat, Cole silently fumes over the event and begins the drive home.

-[8]-[[]]-

Alright, seemed to be edited a lot better than it was.

Thanks for reading!

Till next time, racers.


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